


"Bambi is Fuckin' Delicious By the Way"

by XxamoremortexX



Series: Eyes on Me [3]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: A lot of Daryl introspective, Daryl is awkard as hell, Fluff, Frottage, He needs to get out of his own head, Jesus is a cocky shit, Kissing, M/M, Non-Apocalypse AU, darus-Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 13:50:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8016478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XxamoremortexX/pseuds/XxamoremortexX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some alcohol finally gives Daryl the push to call Jesus for a proper date. A movie night leads to Daryl to admitting a few things about himself, and learning more about what he likes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Bambi is Fuckin' Delicious By the Way"

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to start by saying I am SO sorry I took forever. You have no idea how many times I started and stopped working on this. This one was really frustrating for me and it doesn't quite flow the way I want, but it's finally done. Sorry that it's a bit wordy and repetitive, but these characters are hard to nail down. Now that I've got this part out of the way, I can hopefully play around with them a bit more. Anyway, thanks for sticking with me, and I hope you enjoy.

Three weeks passed since the last time Daryl had seen Jesus. The last time had been after he’d left the shop that day. They’d had dinner together. Daryl wouldn’t call what they had a date. He’d left the shop a sweaty, dirty mess and the two of them had just gone to the gastropub where Jesus’ friend worked. He’d needed to return her car and the two of them ate there simply for the convenience. It had been awkward for Daryl, to say the least. 

He had felt so out of place there. The place was downtown, near a local college and the major businesses in the area. Within minutes of arriving there he had found himself surrounded by a mixture of college kids and young professionals, all drinking to their success and good times. It had been awkward and suffocating, even more than the night at the Hilltop Bar where at least he had the safety net of people that he knew. There, though, all he felt were dirty stares of every person in the bar, wondering what hole he had crawled out of. As soon as they finished their meal, Daryl said that he needed to head home and turn in early. He’d left Jesus with the promise that they would try again soon.

Time passed, but he hadn’t tried again.

If Daryl was honest with himself, he could have put a little more effort into it than he had been. Dale had kept his word on putting him to work fulltime, and he was finding himself spending more time at the shop than not, but he was still allowed his free time. Given the choice, though, as soon as he was home he’d hole himself back up in his garage and work on Aaron’s bike until he was ready to sleep and start the process all over again.

Jesus stayed on his mind, though. At work or in his garage, the image of Jesus would interrupt his thoughts, and he’d think about the younger man. He’d think about how the prick would constantly watch him, the way his full lips always seemed to be in a perpetual smirk, how he always lured Daryl into some kind of trap whenever he looked him in the eyes. Mostly he thought about how Jesus had tracked him down, had actually sought him out and looked for him when he ran. Someone had actually come looking for him.

One of Daryl’s earliest memories came from when he was about four years old. He had been playing a game of hide and seek with Merle. There was an eight year age difference between the two of them and Merle never liked having to play with what he called the “baby.” He never let Daryl into his room, never let him toddle up to his group of friends, and never wanted to share what little toys they had. Merle always wanted to play hide and seek with him, though. 

Whenever they played, it was usually at night, just after his dad got home from wherever he had been. Merle would always take Daryl by his little hand and pull him to the farthest spot in the house away from his dad. He would look Daryl dead in the eye and tell him to hide, count as high as he could, and then he would try to find him. Daryl, just happy at that age to have his big brother’s attention, always did as told and always chose his favorite hiding spot; Merle’s closet. He’d hole himself up in that closet and count as loudly as he could—enough to block out the sounds of screaming, crying and hitting coming from the other side of the house. When he counted as high as he could, he would just start over again, counting numbers and waiting for someone to come find him. 

Sometimes Merle would find him. Most times it was his mom—she was usually crying. When he was little Daryl always thought it was because she was so worried she couldn’t find him. Sometimes, though, Daryl would be sitting in that spot in Merle’s closet until the sun came up. When he got older, his mom gone and Merle away more than not, there was no one looking for him anymore. He’d hide or run when things got bad, but no one ever cared enough to come find him.

Daryl wasn’t a kid anymore, though, and he knew that feeling overwhelmed by someone’s persistence was ridiculous. This wasn’t about him and his piece of shit dad. This wasn’t about Merle leaving him alone. All this was, was one asshole got it into his head to get under his skin and—fuck him—he’d succeeded. For the first time in a long time Daryl wanted to let himself be found. The only problem was, he wasn’t exactly sure how to anymore. 

It was one night going on three and a half weeks before he tried to call Jesus again. He’d spent that night having dinner with Aaron and Eric, having what Eric referred to as some serious spaghetti. He liked having dinner with them. In a town as reserved as this one, they seemed to know what it was like to be considered outsiders like Daryl. It wasn’t so much that people in town actively disliked them, but rather they took their care to avoid them when possible. Daryl could relate. 

Eating some pretty damn good spaghetti and listening to Aaron and Eric talk idly about their week got Daryl thinking about Jesus again. He imagined what it would be like to have such an easy conversation with him, the way Aaron and Eric did. He thought about how long it would take to reach that level of comfort with another person and what it actually took to get there. Shit, he didn’t even have that level of ease with Rick or Carol. The idea of having it with someone new, someone like Jesus, seemed like an impossibility…Thankfully, Aaron and Eric had booze. It made things a little easier, and himself a little bit braver.

After Aaron got him safely home, Daryl went into his kitchen first to take another swig off of his personal bottle of Wild Turkey bourbon. Burned like a son of a bitch going down, but he didn’t really care about the taste at the moment. He just needed the last little push before he pulled out his phone and dialed the number.

It took about six or seven rings, but Jesus finally picked up. As soon as Daryl heard the sound of another person breathing he spoke before he could lose his nerve.

“You doin’ anything right now?”

“Um…hello to you too,” Jesus laughed. “Daryl is that you?”

Daryl curled his fingers into a fist and hit his forehead. Shit, he was being stupid again. “Yeah. It’s me…hey.”

“Hey,” Jesus said back. “It’s been a little while.”

“Yeah,” Daryl nodded. He took a second to grab his bourbon and take another swig to help swallow down the lump in his throat. “You doin’ anything right now.”

“Uh…no, not really. Just working on some beer recipes with my roommate. What are your opinions on strawberry flavored beer?”

“Sounds like shit.”

“Thought so. I’ll tell him to scrap that idea. So…what’s up?”

“Nothin’,” he shrugged. “Just a…just got home. Had dinner with some neighbors.”

“Sounds nice.”

“ ‘s alright. So uh…I was thinkin’…you said somethin’ before about a movie night or somethin’…”

Daryl could feel his skin getting flushed. He wanted to blame it on the alcohol, but he couldn’t quite lie to himself. This felt different than the first time he had asked to spend time with the other man. After the afternoon they’d spent together, it was only natural for things to have progressed the way they did. Calling him up out of the blue, asking for a date—and fuck wasn’t that word foreign to him—that was something else entirely. Something that he’d never done before in his life.

“Yeah,” Jesus said. His voice was a little higher pitched, sounding excited. “Yeah, that actually sounds really good. Did you want to do it over here? My place isn’t great, but the TV has a good sound system.”

“I’ve been uh…I’ve been drinkin’ tonight. Don’t wanna have to drive.”

“Oh. Yeah, I understand. Did you…did you want to do it at your place?”

“We can,” he shrugged. 

“Alright, cool. Just give me your address and about an hour. I need to clean up, I smell like hops and strawberries now.”

“Say it like it’s a bad thing.”

“Thought you said you didn’t like strawberries?”

“Said it would make for shit beer, don’t mind the taste.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jesus said with a laugh. Daryl realized what he had said and squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his fingers against his temple. 

He quickly gave Jesus his address and a brief description of his yard before the younger man could make him say anything else incriminating. Jesus thanked him and promised to be around within an hour. The call ended and Daryl let out a large sigh of relief. He did it. He called someone, asked them over, and the world didn’t end… Shit. He had just called someone and asked them for a date.

Daryl’s eyes shot up from his phone and immediately did a sweep of his surroundings. The place was a fucking mess. Dishes were piled up in the sink, the linoleum floor in need of a sweep, and ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts. The living room wasn’t any better. Clothes, tools, and miscellaneous objects were strewn around the room, and there was some kind of water-stain on the wood paneled wall near the ceiling. Shit.

Throwing his phone down onto the countertop, Daryl immediately got to work on cleaning up anything that he could get his hands on. Dishes quickly rinsed and shoved into his dishwasher, broom over the floor, and grabbing any damn piece of laundry he could get his hands on. In the back of his mind, Daryl knew that he was probably overacting. He’d had his friends over to his shit-hole house dozens of times. Carol had even threatened to douse the walls with disinfectant if he didn’t clean up after himself, but he’d just shrugged her off. He never really cared what people thought about his house or his appearance; that was his own damn business.

This, though, this was something different. He found himself actually caring what Jesus thought about him. He wanted Jesus to actually like him.

Daryl tried not to think about it too much. Instead, he just focused on cleaning what he could really quickly and stuffing whatever junk he had lying around into the hallway closet. It didn’t make much of a difference, but at least the couch was clear of all the crap lying on it and he could clearly see the floor now. It would have to do.

When he looked at the clock, he saw that he had at least twenty-five minutes before the time Jesus said he would show up. Daryl went to the bathroom to give himself a look over. He’d washed up before going over to Aaron’s and Eric’s place, so his face wasn’t a complete mess. His hair could use a scrub, though, he thought. Before he could duck his head under the bath faucet, though, he stopped himself and took a deep breath. This was starting to get out of hand. 

_“Aw. Ain’t you cute, Darlina. Gettin’ yourself all gussied up, waiting for your gentleman caller. Gonna bust your cherry tonight? Make a real woman out of ya.”_

“Shut the hell up,” Daryl growled. Somehow, he could just hear his brother laughing at him. Asshole would be getting a real kick out of this now if he were still here. For a moment, Daryl was almost glad that he wasn’t. 

Almost.

Daryl walked out of his bathroom, deeming his hair and shaggy goatee good enough for now. He did think to change his clothes, though. Going back into his room, he made quick work of removing his vest and pulling his threadbare shirt off, tossing them both somewhere on the floor near the bed. He took of his patchwork jeans next, pulling them down over his boots and kicking them off. Searching through his various piles of clothes, Daryl couldn’t find much to work with. The majority of his pants were dirty and thin from years of wear, tears and patches all over the fabric. With so little to choose from, he just picked out whichever one seemed the cleanest and deemed it good enough.

A shirt was a little harder to choose. Everything that Daryl wore was something practical, something that could transition from work and hunting to whatever get together he chose to be involved in. Most of the sleeves were cut off. It had just seemed more practical to Daryl at the time, in order to keep himself cool while tracking for hours on end outdoors. At the time, he didn’t think that he would be standing half naked in his room, trying to figure out what the hell he should wear for his kind-of date.

“The fuck’s wrong with you?” Daryl mumbled to himself.

He hated this feeling. This stupid nervousness and wanting of approval. Maybe Merle’s voice was on to something there by calling him a woman. He sure as hell was acting like one. 

Before Daryl let his mind go too far down that road, he spotted something white out of the corner of his eye. Digging under a pile of folded clothes, he found what it was that had stuck out. It was a white and grey striped wool cardigan. A Christmas present from Carol the year before which he had worn maybe once. It was nice. A thick material with a nice design and wooden toggles in place of buttons. Why Carol had thought it was something that he would wear, he had no idea, but it was probably the nicest thing that he had in his house. So Daryl found a clean undershirt, threw it on and put on the sweater. 

Looking at himself in the mirror, he felt strange. He was clean and his clothes were bright and he actually looked like a normal person instead of some backwoods freak that people would avoid. It felt…not wrong, but definitely not right either. Daryl didn’t feel like himself, and he didn’t know if he liked it or not. 

There was a low knock coming from the other side of the house. Daryl cursed himself for letting so much time slip by without him being aware. He took a look at himself again in the mirror, and suddenly the warm, once comforting wool of the cardigan felt suffocating. What he thought was just passable before suddenly looked like a dirty mess. Scraggly beard, dirty cheeks, greasy hair… What was it that his old man used to say? _You can polish a turd, but at the end of the day, it’s still just a piece of shit._

Yeah, that about summed it up right now. He was just staring at a piece of shit rolled in glitter.

Another knock at the door, this time accompanied by a voice. It was too far to make out what was being said, but there wasn’t much of a mystery as to who it would be. For a moment he contemplated hiding there in his bathroom until the other man went away, but as much as a little part of him was saying that was the right thing to do, a bigger part reminded him that he was sick of trying to run and hide. It was time to finally grow a pair. 

So Daryl took a breath and began walking towards his living room, the sound of knocking at the door getting louder as he went. As annoying as it was, he was almost grateful for it. He could just pretended that the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears was coming from the door. With a sweaty palm, he grabbed hold of the doorknob. He could feel the vibrations from the knocking run through the brass, up his arm and spread through all of his nerves. One final jolt of electricity to spark him.

He opened the door just as Jesus was about to knock again.

“Oh, Daryl! I was almost afraid I was at the wrong house.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Sorry I was…”

He let the words trail off, not wanting to admit what he’d really been doing.

“No worries,” Jesus said with his bright smile. The one that made Daryl want to hit him. “So, are you going to invite me in?” 

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry.” Daryl shook his head and took a step back.

He kept his head down, staring at his feet, as Jesus stepped through the threshold. He was suddenly painfully aware of the horrid state of his house—the musty smell, the dirt brown walls and carpet, the old furniture—that couldn’t be fixed with ten minutes’ worth of shoving shit in closets. It was just polishing another turd. He didn’t want to see Jesus’ face when he first saw it. He imagined that he would be polite and not mention anything, but you could never hide the first expression. Daryl really didn’t want to deal with that right now.

Once he was through, Daryl was quick to close the door. Jesus was standing there looking at him when he turned back. Well…now what the hell was he supposed to do? He had the man in his house like he’d wanted—did he?—now what was supposed to happen?

When Daryl opened his mouth to say something, he wasn’t quite sure what, Jesus took that exact moment to step up in his space. Daryl didn’t know what he was going to do, but when he saw the other man’s face inching closer, he ducked his head on instinct. The hair of Jesus’ beard scratched his skin when lips pressed against his cheek. Daryl ducked his head down, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck nervously.

“Hey,” Jesus said. 

Daryl just nodded and walked away towards the kitchen. He wasn’t quite sure what his intentions were, but he needed the distance to clear his head for a moment. Well, mission accomplished. Jesus was here, in his house…Now what the hell should he do with him?

Instinctively, Daryl went straight for the extra whiskey he had in the cabinet next to the fridge. As he was pulling it out, a thought occurred to him. Something to break the awkwardness at least.

“So, uh…You, um, you want a drink or something’?”

He held the bottle up for his guest to see, but Jesus was busy setting a backpack down on Daryl’s small kitchen table. Curious, he stopped to look, taking in the other man’s appearance for the first time. Jesus was dressed down in a grey tank top under a tattered old bomber jacket and dirty, paint covered loose cargo pants. His hair was a bit of a mess, hanging loosely around his shoulders. Daryl suddenly felt really stupid for having put so much effort in trying to look presentable, and he wondered if he could quietly sneak out of the room to go change.

Before he could even try, Jesus was looking back at him, his smile bright when he saw Daryl standing there with the bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other.

“Thanks, but I’ve never been much of a brown liquor man.”

“Well, I ain’t got any of them pink fruit drinks or nothing.”

“Damn,” Jesus said with an exaggerated sigh. “Oh well, we’ll make do.”

Rummaging through his backpack again, Jesus pulled out what looked like a six-pack of beer. Although upon closer inspection, Daryl could see that none of the bottles were labeled and each one appeared to be a different color. 

“The hell’s that?”

“If it’s alright with you, I thought I could use you as a bit of a guinea pig tonight.”

“The hell’s that mean?”

“Nothing like that, so don’t look so scared,” he laughed. “My roommates think that we need an outside opinion on what we’re making. If you don’t mind, I’d like to use that cute mouth of yours. For research purposes only, of course.”

He pulled one of the bottles out of the cardboard pack and passed it over. Daryl took it, but didn’t go to drink it right away. He kept his eyes on Jesus as the other man went back to his backpack, pulling out a few small DVD cases.

“Thought we were just doin’ one movie?”

“That was the idea, but I couldn’t decide which one to bring. Let’s see…I’ve got _Night of the Living Dead, Dawn of the Dead_ —both the original and the remake—and the Rifftrax version of _Night of the Living Dead_. Fucking hilarious.”

“…Too many choices,” Daryl shrugged. “You pick.”

“Fair enough.”

Jesus pulled one of the cases out of the stack at random, but moved too fast for Daryl to see which one. Without being told, Jesus began to set up Daryl’s TV to start the movie. He shuffled himself into the living room slowly, watching Jesus as he sorted through the mess around Daryl’s TV like he knew exactly where everything was. Shit, Daryl didn’t even know what most of that stuff was. He’d never been much of a TV watcher, and the DVD player was just some random black box that Merle brought home one day. Probably stolen, he didn’t care enough to ask. 

As he worked on that, Daryl realized that he suddenly had a choice to make about where to sit. There was his favorite recliner, situated towards the end of the room facing the TV. It was usually his go to spot, but if he sat there now, it might seem like he was trying to distance himself. Not that he wanted to sit too close to the prick, but he came all this way, brought movies and beer…it would be rude. On the other hand, if he sat with him on the sofa, he knew the little shit would try something.

Before he could make up his mind, Jesus was already moving past him, remote in hand and taking the corner seat on the far end of the sofa. The old thing creaked as he plopped himself down and Daryl watched as the younger man situated himself into a more comfortable position on the lumpy cushion. Once he seemed settled, he looked back up to Daryl with those big, seemingly innocent eyes, grinned that fucking grin and patted the seat next to him.

Daryl scoffed and rolled his eyes, but his feet were already taking him over. Trying to keep some form of pride, though, Daryl sat himself down on the opposite end, far away from the younger man. 

“Really?” Jesus laughed. “I think we’ve established that I don’t bite, Daryl.”

“Whatever,” Daryl mumbled. “Just start the damn movie.”

“As you wish.”

Within a moment, the black of the television screen gave way to the to the opening screen title for _Dawn of the Dead_. Looking at the older font and shitty picture, Daryl guessed it was the older version. Not that it really mattered or he really cared. He just remembered Jesus harping on about it at the shop that day.

“You’re going to love this,” Jesus said next to him, suddenly closer than Daryl remembered. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“You gonna talk the whole damn movie?”

“Probably.”

Daryl let out a huff, crossed his arms and turned his attention back to the screen.

“Just a fair warning, I tend to grab on to things when I get excited—”

“I noticed,” Daryl interrupted.

“Just wanted to warn you. You know, so you won’t reflexively punch me when I grab your arm during this.”

“Noted,” he nodded. “Anythin’ else you need ta share?”

“Yeah, I’m five-foot-seven, allergic to cilantro, and fall in love too easily. Your turn?” He gave Daryl that fucking cheeky grin again, and Daryl just let out a groan. His arms crossed over his chest, hand clutching his beer tightly. Why had he thought this was a good idea?

Taking a swig of his beer—which actually wasn’t too bad—Daryl kept his eyes on the screen, ready to see what the hell was so great about this movie.

***

An hour into the movie and Daryl still didn’t know what all of the hype was about. Yeah, it had some interesting gory scenes and tense moments, but it wasn’t anything special. Of course, he might have enjoyed it more if it wasn’t for the voice constantly whispering in his ear. Every two minutes, Daryl learned a new piece of trivia about the actors, the director, the set location, and hell he even learned what kind of prosthetic were used for the victims’ devoured flesh. Daryl was seriously regretting this.

What was even worse was that Jesus hadn’t exaggerated his reactions. Every time there was a particularly gruesome zombie kill, a hand would grip Daryl’s shoulder or bicep. He’d lost count of how many times he had to shove the younger man off of him. Each time, the little prick would just laugh, let a minute or two linger and try it again. There was a moment on screen where a man was overwhelmed and devoured, and Jesus practically jumped on Daryl from behind. 

“Man,” Daryl groaned. He tried to shake the other man off, but he held tight this time. “You’ve seen this movie how many damn times? Why the hell you still afraid of it?”

He could feel Jesus shrug, still holding on to him. “I don’t know. Zombies are scary.”

“Don’t see how. It’s just a bunch of people in grey face paint walkin’ too fucking slow.”

“It’s more about what they represent than what they look like. I mean, yeah, it’s freaky as hell to see some rotting, decaying thing stumbling towards you and wanting to eat your face. But at the end of the day, it’s more about the fear of the loss of control. Like, look at the people in this movie. They’re running and fighting, trying to stay alive, but they have no control over the situation. They’re never going to go back to their boring lives, go on dates, or even read a fucking book again. The choice and control for their lives is gone, and all they can do is try to avoid death, which they can’t. And even after death, their bodies and minds aren’t their own anymore. They’re just this mindless thing with nothing but a desire to eat. It’s terrifying…Plus, being dismembered alive is pretty fucking scary.”

Daryl scoffed and shook his head. “Man…you think way too much about this shit. And will you get the hell off me?”

“Don’t want to,” he said with a shake of his head. “It’s too soft and warm.”

To emphasize his point, Jesus’ arms moved under Daryl’s. His hands linked around Daryl’s stomach and he gave a light squeeze, pulling Daryl back so that he was resting against his chest.

Daryl fidgeted against the grip, trying his best to get out of it, but either the light alcohol and gravity were beginning to work against him or Jesus was holding on too strong so he couldn’t get up. 

“You best let me go,” Daryl warned. All he got in return was a laugh.

No matter how hard he squirmed or how much he jabbed his elbow, Jesus held on tight. Son of a bitch was just laughing the whole time, like Daryl was the most entertaining thing he’d ever seen. The older man didn’t know how it happened, but somehow all of that squirming and trying to break loose led to the two of them to a different position on the couch. Jesus was behind him, his back resting against the furthest armrest, one leg on the couch and the other off. Daryl wanted to groan when he realized that now he was half laying, half sitting between Jesus’ open legs, back against the other man’s chest and being hugged from behind.

“Much better,” Jesus said. “Now shut up and enjoy being my little spoon.”

“Good lord,” Daryl groaned.

“I prefer Jesus, but it’s your call.” Before Daryl could say anything, Jesus ducked his head down to kiss his cheek.

A warm, tingling sensation spread across his skin from where Jesus’ lips had touched. Daryl scowled and convinced himself that it was just a tickle from the other man’s beard. With the warm body holding him and the soft feel of Jesus’ heartbeat close to his ears, Daryl slowly found himself relaxing a bit. He turned his eyes back to the movie. He could hear a light laugh coming from behind him, but the other man didn’t say a word, seemingly finding himself content just running his nails lightly up and down Daryl’s forearms. Jesus didn’t say a word for the rest of the movie.

***

The movie ended with the final two heroes flying off in a helicopter into the sunset, while the credits began to roll with campy music. Daryl squinted at the screen, suddenly feeling very ripped off.

“That’s it? It just ends.”

“That’s it,” Jesus shrugged. “What were you expecting?”

“Doesn’t really give you any conclusion. Thought movies were supposed to have happy endings and shit.”

“I don’t think you can really have happy endings in a zombie movie. I mean, yeah, the hero can live at the end, but by then, the problem is way too big to ever be truly fixed. You can’t kill every single zombie on the planet, and even then nothing will ever really be the same as it was before.”

“What’s the fuckin’ point then?”

“It’s like I said before, it’s the fear of losing control. If you think that’s an unsatisfying ending, you should see _Night of the Living Dead_. Pissed me off so badly the first time I saw it.”

“Thought you said you liked it?”

“Doesn’t change the fact,” he laughed. “I can put that one in next if you’re up to it?”

Daryl smiled a little and looked at the clock on the opposite wall. It was nearing midnight, the latest he’d stayed up since he started working at Dale’s shop. And damn, didn’t that thought make him feel old. 

“It’s late. You workin’ tomorrow or somethin’?”

“No, I’m free.”

“Ain’t got a job?”

Jesus laughed. Daryl noticed how the creases around his mouth deepened whenever he did that. 

“Yes, I do have a job. I bartend on the weekends downtown.”

“Bartend and brew your own shit? You’re on your way to a drinkin’ problem.”

“The brewing is a partnership deal with some friends right now. Microbrews are getting pretty popular lately, so everyone is getting in on the business. As for the bartending, that’s completely unrelated. It’s just one of the few jobs that gives me good flexible hours and a shitload of tips.”

“Thought you went to college?”

“I did,” Jesus nodded. “But sometimes that doesn’t mean shit. Yeah, I have a lot of great information, some new world perspective, and I can write a hell of a research paper, but unfortunately you need at least three degrees and about ten years of experience to get an entry level job. Besides, I can’t imagine myself working in a cubicle all day. I would have to cut my hair, shave my beard, and probably go insane from having to listen to Sharon talk about her husband and kids every day.”

“Sharon?”

“My hypothetical work-nemesis,” he explained. “The bitch always takes the last bagel in the breakroom and insists that everyone attend the company Christmas party in holiday sweaters. She’s evil and I have to destroy her.”

Daryl couldn’t help but laugh at the serious tone in Jesus’ voice. The other man had clearly thought this whole scenario through at least a dozen times. Must be nice, he thought. To be so at ease with your own life that you can spend your time envisioning a different one. Daryl hadn’t done that since he was a kid and wishing he was someplace better. 

“What about you, Dixon? What did you want to be?”

“What do ya mean?”

“Like,” Jesus paused to reposition himself on the couch. Daryl sat himself up and watched as the younger man pulled his legs up so that he was sitting Indian-style, with his arm resting over the back of the couch and his head tilted as he stared. 

“Have you always wanted to be a mechanic?”

“Nah,” Daryl shrugged. “Just kind of fell into it. I’m decent at it and it pays ok.”

“What did you want to do, then?” He pressed. Daryl shrugged again and looked down at his lap. “Oh come on, you’re telling me that when you were little you didn’t dream about becoming an astronaut or a racecar driver or any of that other bullshit?”

“Nah…Never wanted to be anythin’ really.”

 _And for a long time, I wasn’t_ , he thinks. His cheeks feel warm again as he stares down at his lap. _Still not much more than a polished turd._

“Really?” He can hear the smile in Jesus’ voice. The other man can’t see the pick flush of Daryl’s cheeks or the embarrassment in his eyes. Thank the lord for small favors, he thinks. “There must have been something you enjoyed doing.”

Daryl thinks for a minute before saying the first thing that popped in his head. “I liked being outside a lot.”

“Like playing outside?”

“Nah, not like that. Like…I just always felt more comfortable outside than in.”

Inside was where his dad was, ass plopped in his chair and a mason jar of shine in one hand. Sometimes he’d be content sitting there all day, eyes glued to whatever the hell he was watching on TV. Other times, when that wasn’t stimulating enough, he’d have some woman that Daryl didn’t know over. Never the same one, but always the same kind; stringy, greasy hair, tattoos on her sagging breasts, clothes too tight on her frame, and never not holding a cigarette. The house would be full of the smoke, choking Daryl before his lungs had gotten used to it, and filling his mind with images of his mother asleep on her sofa while the smoke surrounded her. 

“My uncle had me huntin’ and trackin’ with him the minute I could hold his Bowie knife. Showed me how to skin a deer on my twelfth birthday.”

“Aw, poor deer.” Jesus said with an over exaggerated pout.

“Wasn’t nothin’ poor about the damn thing. Took me two days to track that son of a bitch. ‘Bout passed out from exhaustion by the time I caught it. Lost nearly all of my bolts tryin’ to get a clean shot.”  
“Someone never saw _Bambi_ when they were little,” he laughed. 

“I saw it. Bambi is fuckin’ delicious by the way.”

“That’s so messed up.”

“Thumper ain’t too bad either,” he said with a smirk. “A little gamey, though.”

“Oh man… Please tell me you didn’t kill Flower too. He was always my favorite, so if you say that he became stew, I don’t think my heart could take it.”

Daryl glanced a look at Jesus from the corner of his eye and saw the younger man’s big, soulful eyes staring at him in an over exaggerated sense of sadness. Daryl might have bought it too, had the little prick’s lips not been curled in in an attempt to fight off a smile.

“Haven’t ever tried skunk myself, but I’ve heard it ain’t too bad. Next time I go out I’ll have to try some.”

“You’re heartless,” Jesus pouted. 

“Those little son bitches are tougher than you think.”

“Oh God, you’ve never been sprayed by one, have you?”

Daryl thought back for a minute before shaking his head. Most of his hunting trips over the last twenty or so years had been a bit of a blur to him. There was one incident with a skunk that stood out, and he laughed to himself before telling Jesus about the time he had gone hunting with Merle a little before his brother was set to leave for basic training. He left out the part that his brother had joined the army to avoid a five year sentence for assault. 

During that trip, Merle had been the first one to get a good kill. A young buck, good sized and a pretty decent sized rack. He had teased Daryl for the majority of those few days, because all his baby brother could bag was a couple of squirrels and moles. On their last night, Merle was bragging and teasing Daryl around their campfire, drinking heavily and enjoying his last couple of days as a civilian. Daryl remembered that he wanted to knock the asshole’s teeth in, how he just wanted him to shut the hell up. He remembered that later into the night, as his brother and he got drunker, he had caught the glimpse of a fluffy black shadow creeping into their campsite. Out of instinct, he had grabbed his bow and shot the thing before it could make its way into his tent. 

In his drunken haze, he had been excited because it had been the largest thing he’d bagged that whole week. When he had gotten closer, though, his hope gave way to disappointment and embarrassment when he saw that the animal—still twitching from the bolt in its neck—was just a lousy skunk. He remembered clearly Merle’s mocking laugh behind him. He saw the way his older brother had his head thrown back, like he was some kind of dog howling at the moon. Daryl couldn’t say exactly why he thought it was a good idea at the time, but in his anger, he grabbed the dead skunk by the tail, marched up to Merle, pointed its ass at his brother’s face, and squeezed it as hard as he could. Merle had gone from laughter to shouts of rage as his face was covered in the dead animal’s spray. The both of them took a hell of a beating that night, and Merle was shipped off to basic training smelling like a mixture of shit and rotting flesh.

When Daryl had finished his story, Jesus was nearly in tears, doubled over himself from laughing so hard. Daryl noticed the lines around his mouth again as he laughed. They were deep set, much more than they should have been for someone his age. He must laugh and smile a lot, he thought. Of course he could see why, the man had a beautiful smile. Daryl felt a little sense of satisfaction knowing that he was the one to put that smile on his face. 

Before he knew it, he was telling Jesus some of his better—some of his more appropriate—hunting stories. The time he and Merle got caught trespassing on private land and he got a single warning shot before his ass got shot at. Literally. The bullet grazed him, making a hole in his jeans and leaving a scar on his ass. The time one of Merle’s idiot friends was fucking around near one of the cliff edges and fell. He was ok, save for a twisted ankle. The time Daryl himself fell down that fucking ridge and got his bolt stabbed through his abdomen. He still made it home for dinner, though.

The two of them—well, Daryl—talked for what seemed like hours. Daryl relaxed more and more each time Jesus showed his amusement at one of Daryl’s stories. It was nice for the older man to see that for once, someone was laughing with him over these things instead of at him. Despite all of his reservations and worries, Daryl found himself enjoying the evening, enjoying just talking to the other man. It was…easy. Relaxed. Comfortable even. 

That’s what he had wanted, right? He wanted something nice and comfortable, like what Aaron and Eric had. He didn’t expect it this quickly, though. Especially with someone new, someone like Jesus. The thought scared him a little bit. How was it that he was able to let his guard down—in his own damn house—and talk so easily with this pesky little shit, when it took him months to open up to his family this way?

“So what was it?” Jesus’ voice made his head snap.

“Huh?”

“The thing in the bushes,” he said. “What was it?”

Oh, right. He had been in the middle of telling Jesus about the hunting trip Merle took him on on his thirtieth birthday. The night that he saw—

“Chupacabra.”

“…A what?”

“Chupacabra,” Daryl said again, feeling his cheeks heat up once more. “We was sittin’ around the fire. Everybody was passed out, but I was still up. Heard it before I saw it. Thing was huge. Had no fur, but black skin and a huge jaw. Thought it was just a dog at first, but then I saw its teeth. Had these huge fangs, bigger than I ever seen on a dog. Ears were all big and floppy too, like a bat.”

Daryl ducked his head down and waited for the laughter. He’d told this story once before to his group. He could remember clearly the way they all laughed at him, how TDog to this day gave him hell for it. Even Merle, the man who believed that fucking groups of lizard people where running the government, had laughed in his face and blamed it on the shrooms they’d taken. To hell with all of them. He knew what he saw.

“Dude, get the fuck out!” Jesus said suddenly, hitting Daryl’s arm in excitement. 

“I know what I saw,” Daryl mumbled, shoulders hunched in defense.

“No, no, I believe you. Shit… Can I tell you something and you won’t laugh?”

Daryl turned back to the other man, eyes narrowed in confusion. He didn’t say anything, but Jesus took a deep breath and went on.

“On my senior trip in high school, we went camping for the week and…I’m pretty sure I saw Bigfoot.”

If possible, Daryl’s scowl deepened even further. “I don’t need you makin’ fun of me, fuckin’ prick.”

“I’m not! I swear to God I’m not!” 

Daryl scoffed and Jesus scooted closer to him. With a hand gripping his shoulder, he leaned in, trying to get Daryl to look at him to see the earnest look in his eyes. Like he was about to tell him the greatest secret of the universe.

“I swear, this really happened.” Jesus took a deep breath and went on. “It was our third night at the campsite, long after everyone had passed out. I woke up really late—or really early, I don’t know what time it was—and I had to take a really bad piss. So I got up and went out to find a tree, yeah. So I’m just out there doing my business when I start hearing this clacking sound. Scared the shit out of me. Like, I stopped mid-stream, it freaked me out so badly.

“A minute went by and I didn’t hear it again, so I finished up and went to go back to my tent. Before I got back in, though, I heard it again. Just this loud clacking sound, like two sticks being hit together. I got so scared that I couldn’t move. I was just stuck there, standing in front of my tent hearing that sound over and over again, but getting louder. I wasn’t able to move until I heard something that sounded like a grunt. Well, that got my ass into gear and I fucking dove into my tent to get my flashlight. By the time I found it, that grunting and clacking noise sounded like it was just on the other side of the tent. 

“So I got the flashlight out and pointed it outside, yeah. But I didn’t see anything. The noise stopped too, so I thought that one of my friends was just being a dick, trying to scare everyone. But…when I shined the light on their tents, they were all closed. Ok, I thought to myself, maybe I’m just tired or crazy, or whatever the hell. But then I heard this sound, like a mix between this growl and a bark. When I turned to the right…BOOM!” Jesus shouted, making both himself and Daryl jump. “There it fucking was! I didn’t see the whole thing, but just this huge, hairy ass leg.”

“You sure it weren’t a bear?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I’ve seen bears before. I know what they look like, this wasn’t a bear.”

“So…what’d ya do?”

“What any person would have done,” Jesus shrugged. “I freaked the fuck out and started screaming. The thing must have gotten spooked, because it took off faster than anything I’ve ever seen. My friends all start coming out of their tents, freaked out because I’m freaked out. When they got me calmed down, I told them what happened, but none of them believed me,” Jesus said with a quiet laugh. “They all thought I was making it up, trying to scare them, or that I had smoked some of our stash and gotten paranoid. Fuck…they teased me about that for years. They still fucking tease me about it. The ones I see, anyway.”

Daryl didn’t say anything to that. He just hummed to himself and nodded. Bringing his thumb to his lip, he began to chew on the loose skin at the nailbed. A habit of his for whenever he was thinking. Jesus told the story like he’d been telling it for years, but the way his voice slowed down and tapered off at the end made it sound kind of sad. He could almost picture Jesus; scrawny little teenager all alone in the woods, scared shitless and having his friends mocking him. It’s a shitty feeling he knew well.

“Yeah, well,” he stopped to clear his throat, “your friends are a bunch of assholes. I believe ya.”

“…Really?” Jesus asked. There was a smile playing on his lips. Not the self-assured or mischievous one that Daryl had come to know. This one was smaller, more tentative, like maybe he was just waiting for Daryl to start laughing at him too.

“Yeah,” he said with a nod. Not even thinking, Daryl reached his hand out and placed it on the younger man’s knee.

Before he realized what he’d done, Jesus had moved his hand over Daryl’s. A soft weight holding him down. Jesus’ fingers were a light touch, moving over Daryl’s skin and slipping his fingertips just a little into the sleeve of Daryl’s sweater. 

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” With his other hand, Daryl nervously scratched the back of his head. “’Sides, there’s gotta be shit in this world people can’t explain. Chupacabra, bigfoot—”

“Why you’re still single?” 

Daryl flinched at the statement. Walked right into another trap. He tried to take his hand back, but Jesus slipped his fingers through his, holding on to it like it belonged to him now. The little shit was grinning at him again, he could tell. Feeling that familiar heat on his face and that weight in his stomach, Daryl turned his head the other way. His eyes looked to the TV screen where the DVD had gone back to the title screen. He focused on that and tried to ignore the pounding in his chest. 

“You’re so damn cute when you get flustered,” Jesus laughed. 

“Quit sayin’ shit like that, man,” he said with a sigh. “I mean it.”

“Why?”

 _Because it’s all bullshit_ , he thinks. _Because you stay this stupid shit and make me feel like an ass for feeling like there’s something special about me when there ain’t nothing but shit._

“Hey, you ok?”

Jesus scooted closer to Daryl so that their thighs touched. With his free hand he tried to reach out and put his finger under Daryl’s chin, but the older man shook him off. The fingers around his own tightened.

“Daryl, are you ok?”

Shit. He was doing it again, letting his mind take over. All those thoughts and doubts and Merle’s voice and the memory of his dad’s backhand filling up his head, shutting down any rational thought. Once rationality was gone, instinct usually took over. His instinct to run and hide from the things that made him scared or uncomfortable. Whether it be out in the woods where he could be alone and free, or just hiding in his big brother’s closet and counting to ten. He just wanted to hide.

He didn’t even notice it this time when Jesus’ fingers touched under his chin. With a light touch, he turned Daryl’s head back so that he was facing him. Once more he found himself caught in those damn enormous blue eyes. Eyes that were looking at him in confusion and concern. The smile on Jesus’ face was gone, replaced with a serious look. Daryl couldn’t see those deep laugh lines on his cheeks anymore, and for some reason that made him more upset than anything else. The longer Jesus looked at him, the more Daryl could feel his heartrate pick up. He knew he should say something. Maybe say he was tired and try to call it a night. They had had a good time. He could end it now on a good note and decide where that left them later.

He had intended to do just that, but the second he opened his mouth, he just said the first thing that came to his mind.

“How come you do that?”

“Do what?” Jesus’ eyebrows furrowed.

Daryl shrugged before continuing on. “Say shit like that. Try to get me pissed and riled up?”

Jesus laughed softly, ducking his head down for a second before looking back at him. “While it is fun to see you get flustered, I don’t do it with the intention to piss you off. I told you before that I like you. I, uh…I actually like you quite a lot,” he laughed nervously.

Daryl didn’t know what to say next. A part of him wanted to know why. Why did this guy spend his time chasing after him? Why did he drive all the way over here in the middle of the night just to drink home-made beer and watch bad movies? Why was he wasting his time on a piece of shit?

“Do you know why I used that trick at the bar?”

“Just figured you were tryin’ to play whatever game,” he shrugged.

“It wasn’t a game. Yeah, I’ll admit, in retrospect it can look pretty shitty, and I’m sorry for lying to you then…But I’m also not sorry about it. I was always told that you can tell a lot about a person by how they treat a stranger. Sounds cheesy, yeah, but you didn’t even know me and you were willing to not only help me, but protect me if needed. That told me enough about the kind of person you are, Daryl. A good man. Someone with a good heart. That’s why I like you…Well, one of the reasons anyway.”

“Mhmm.” 

“Do you like me?”

The question takes Daryl aback for a moment and he’s left staring at the younger man. He looks serious again. Not as concerned as he was before, but his eyes are big and questioning as he awaits his answer. Did he like Jesus? The guy was an annoying prick who had been getting under Daryl’s skin and into his head since the moment he’d forced himself into Daryl’s personal space at that bartop. He teased him, he lied to get close to him, and he made Daryl’s head spin with confusion and all other sorts of feelings he didn’t want to think about. Every time Daryl ran, he chased after him.

“Yeah… I do.”

Between the two of them, Jesus somehow managed to look more surprised about the statement than Daryl did. Almost as if he didn’t think that Daryl would admit it. Truth be told, Daryl didn’t think that he would admit it either. He didn’t want to give the little hippie any more ammo to tease him or make him more confused than he already was. When that was all said and done, though, he couldn’t deny the truth; this little asshole had gotten under his skin and was making himself at home. And suddenly Daryl felt like he was four years old again, holed up in Merle’s closet, counting his numbers and waiting for someone to care enough to come find him.

Well, here Jesus was. Daryl could stop hiding now if he wanted to.

Jesus slipped his fingers free from Daryl’s. They remained warm and Daryl found himself missing the contact. He didn’t get to miss it for long, though. Jesus had moved again, leaning forward so that he was almost pressed fully into Daryl. Those hands came up to cradle Daryl’s head, long fingers running into his hair. Without thinking, one of Daryl’s hands went up to cover Jesus’. His eyes watched those full, plush lips part just a fraction as the other man took in a small breath before he tilted his head in. 

Unlike their other times together, this first kiss is soft. Jesus’ lips feeling almost like velvet against Daryl’s chapped ones. Daryl closed his eyes and for once allowed himself just to enjoy the feeling of it. The softness of his lips, the pressure that was being added to each kiss, and the shiver that went from his scalp down his spine from those fingers in his hair. 

The hand in his hair soon moved to cradle his head and bring him in closer. Daryl put his arms out, trying to balance himself. It was just coincidence that the best place for his hands to rest was Jesus’ chest and hip. As they kissed—lips parting, Jesus’ tongue sliding against his own—Daryl’s hand stayed steady on Jesus’ chest. Through the thin fabric shirt, Daryl could feel the hard planes of Jesus’ muscle, and the way the beat of his heart was speeding up. The feel of it released something in Daryl, something that he didn’t even know was there. A want and desire.

He began to kiss the younger man with more fervor, and the other enthusiastically responded. The kissing grew more heated, lips parting wider, tongues sliding against each other wet and messy like a couple of inexperienced teenagers. Jesus pressed himself closer to Daryl, almost completely in the older man’s lap, and Daryl’s hand squeezed hard onto Jesus’ hipbone. The reaction is instant. Jesus’ hips bucked forward and he let out a panting breath. Daryl could feel something brush against his groin, sending an almost electric jolt up his spine. He must have made some kind of noise, because Jesus pulled back to look at him.

“Are you ok?” He panted.

Daryl’s brain didn’t register his words for a moment. All he could feel was a tingling sensation spreading through his nerves, making the blood in his head rush. His hands were still on Jesus, holding on tightly, feeling the heat coming from the other man’s body. The silence must have stretched on longer than he thought, because Jesus began to look concerned. He started to move his knees back so that he could lean off of Daryl. That’s when an instinct took over.

Both hands on Jesus’ hips now, Daryl pulled the younger man back. They were closer now, stomachs touching and heads tilted. Jesus took the hint and went back in for another kiss. He kissed Daryl deep and slow this time. He took his time before parting his lips and the slide of his tongue against Daryl’s was languid. Daryl took it like a man starved, letting his thoughts go and just letting himself relish in the feel of it. Daryl closed his eyes and felt his body go loose, just enjoying the warmth of the other man’s body so close to his own and the hint taste of strawberries on the other man’s tongue. Maybe that idea for strawberry beer wasn’t so dumb after all.

Suddenly Jesus’ hands moved from his hair to his shoulders, and Daryl found his back being pushed against the sofa. A leg was being swung over his and before he knew it, there was a skinny hippy in his lap. Daryl’s brain froze. His lips were moving along with the kiss pretty much on autopilot, but he felt all of his muscles freeze as Jesus tilted his head back and his hands gripped his shoulders. As those lips moved down his jaw and started kissing at his neck, Daryl’s mind slowly began to work again. The biggest thought being, of course, that there was another person sitting in his lap. 

Sure, he and Jesus have been kissing and touching—well Jesus was doing most of the touching—since the night they met, but this was new ground here. Jesus was in his lap, kissing and biting at his neck, and moving his hips just a little bit. Each move the other man made Daryl want to shiver, made his blood pool in a place where it usually does not go to. Daryl tried to think back to the last time he had gotten any kind of action or stimulation at all…Shit. It had been going on three years now. 

Shortly after Merle died—before Rick had dragged his ass to the support group—Daryl had found himself in a bad place, both mentally and emotionally. He spent several weeks going on a bender and drifting from one place to another. Even ended up crashing on the couch of Merle’s dealer more than once. One night he found himself at a bar in some town called Woodbury, drunk as a fucking skunk before ten o’clock that night. By eleven, he had found himself in the back of his pickup with some guy named Martinez. Daryl didn’t remember much about the man, other than he was good looking enough and seemed like a nice distraction. Truth be told, Daryl didn’t remember much about their encounter, save for a bit of awkward fumbling and some soreness in his thighs from rough handling. Either way, Daryl didn’t bother to look the guy up again. Not that it mattered anyway. Daryl had been so disgusted with himself afterwards that he finally took Rick up on his offer to get some help dealing with his grief. Since then, he hadn’t really felt so much as a twitch of interest in someone.

Which brought him back to the matter at hand. There was another man sitting in his lap. Another man that was now biting at the juncture of his neck—and damn if that didn’t elicit a groan from Daryl. Another man who, while somehow keeping his lips on his skin, was tilting his body back to slide his jacket off. Daryl could get a better look at Jesus’s skin now. He hadn’t seen the younger man’s bare arms before, and he had to say, the site of it now had him curious. His arms looked so small and sinewy, but Daryl had felt how strong the little fucker could be. How he could move Daryl around like he was a doll or just as easily grab him and hold him in place. 

Daryl moved his hands to touch those arms. The skin was soft and smooth beneath his fingertips. He kept moving them, over Jesus’ shoulders, down his biceps and back up again, taking in the feel of smooth skin and taut muscles. Once they were on Jesus’ shoulders again, Daryl changed his direction and moved them down over the shoulder to Jesus’ back, his fingers dipping in to his undershirt. A loud groan filled Daryl’s ears and suddenly Jesus’ hips bucked into Daryl. 

Daryl physically winced when he felt something brush against his groin. Well, not something. Daryl knew exactly what it was. Jesus did it again, grinding his hips down onto Daryl, letting the older man feel his semi-hard bulge. A jolt went up Daryl’s spine, making him twitch. A moment later, Jesus bit down onto his neck just as he grinded his hips straight down. The result was an instantaneous jolt to his dick and Daryl pulled his hands back almost as if he’d been burned. 

When he stopped touching—mind almost willing his dick to stay soft—the kissing and biting to his neck began to slow down, until Jesus was pulling his head back to look at him. Daryl couldn’t meet those eyes just yet, so he looked down to his lap. Wrong decision. From this angle, he could see the outline of the other man’s hardness through his cargo pants, as well as the small beginnings of a tent in his own jeans. Fuck.

“Everything alright?” Jesus asked. When Daryl didn’t answer, Jesus moved his hands from Daryl’s chest to wrap around the back of his neck. One of his thumbs was moving gently up and down the back of his neck in a soothing manner. 

“This isn’t the part where you tell me you’re straight, is it?”

The other man said it with a soft laugh, almost as if he was joking, but the tone in his voice was self-deprecating. That made Daryl look back up. Jesus’ lips were quirked, like he was trying to do his usual smirk, but it was off, too forced. It made him think of the way he looked after he’d told him the Bigfoot story. Like he was waiting for Daryl to confirm his fears and laugh at him. It made Daryl feel…Well, he wasn’t quite sure how it made him feel. Upset? Guilty? A little pissed off that the younger man would even think that Daryl would do something as shitty as lead him on like that?

“…Nah,” he finally said with a shake of his head. 

“Ok.” If Jesus looked a little relieved, Daryl pretended not to notice. “Have…have you ever done… _this_ before? With, um…with another guy?”

Daryl couldn’t blame him for that thought. In a small voice he answered, “I’ve done stuff…kissin’, touchin’, shit like that.”

While Daryl still isn’t completely sure about his night with Martinez, he was fairly certain that the furthest he’d gotten with another man was a few awkward handjobs. A couple he had done to erase a debt or two. He wasn’t exactly a virgin in this area, but he by no means knew what the hell he was doing here. Had no idea if anything he was doing was right, or what would make Jesus feel good. 

“Ok,” Jesus nodded again. Daryl watched nervously as the younger man seemed to collect his thoughts, taking small, but deep breaths. “We, uh…we don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to.”

“What do ya mean?”

“Like,” he stopped himself, head tilting down for a moment. Daryl saw how his shoulders slowly rose and fall after a particularly deep breath.

“I don’t want it to be like before, back in the Winnebago,” he said. “I pushed a little too much then and you got shaky. And…I just don’t want you to think you have to force yourself into something you’re not comfortable with, just because you think that I want it.”

“Shit,” Daryl groaned. 

He figured that moment back in the Winnebago would come back to haunt him. He hadn’t meant to spazz out on Jesus then. Just like now, he didn’t mean to keep starting and stopping and fucking things up just when he began to relax. He couldn’t help it, though. Every time he was around the other man, the asshole would look at him with those too big eyes in a way that Daryl had never seen before on anyone. It was confusing, because he just couldn’t understand what the hell the other man saw. If it wasn’t just a game to him or just some fun way to pass the time, then Daryl couldn’t figure out why the hell he was wasting his time on him. The way Jesus looked at him, it was almost as if he didn’t see the crow’s feet, the dirt, the oil, or just the _otherness_ about him that everyone else saw. The way Daryl saw himself. He was a piece of shit, and he just didn’t want that on someone like Jesus. 

But Daryl didn’t know how to tell him that. Didn’t know how to tell the younger man how much he was on his mind; at work, at home, in his garage, or just about anywhere. He didn’t know how to tell him how much the sight of him made his heart pounded or how he made him feel like a lovesick, teenage idiot. He didn’t know how to tell him that just the sight of him there in his lap with his arms bare was probably one of the most attractive things that he’d ever seen, and he didn’t know what to do with it. Nor did he know how to tell him that just being here with him tonight, shooting the shit and watching a terrible movie, was one of the better nights that Daryl has had in years.

When he felt Jesus beginning to lean back to get off of him, though, Daryl’s fight instinct kicked in. Fuck trying to figure out how to tell him. Daryl was more of an action kind of man anyway. 

He had one arm around Jesus’s back and the other hand in his soft hair, pulling him down for a kiss before the younger man could realize. Jesus let out a muffled, surprised sound, and Daryl enjoyed the fact that for once it wasn’t him that made that sound. Though he parted his lips slightly, Jesus didn’t let the kiss grow deeper just yet. He kept it gentle while his fingers lightly touched his cheekbones. He could feel the other man smiling, though. 

“We’ll go slow,” Jesus whispered. “Tell me what you like?”

Oh fuck this guy. Daryl closed his eyes and tried his best to hold back a groan. What the hell did he like? Fuck if he knew. He liked getting off, when the mood struck him. That didn’t mean that he had a particular preference, though. The silence was beginning to stretch and Daryl knew he had to say something. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and peaked open his eyes. Jesus was watching him, a smile playing at his lips and waiting for instructions.

“Um…w-what you were doin’ before,” he said with a cough. “That wasn’t so bad.”

Fuck his face like it was on fire. He thanked God for the low light in the living room as it was probably the only thing hiding his blush. Lips touched his own again, sweetly and gently, while at the same time Jesus gave a slow roll of his hips. The action caught him off guard and Daryl’s breath hitched.

“Like that?” Jesus asked playfully. When Daryl didn’t answer, he rolled his hips again, this time grinding down a little harder. Daryl’s dick twitched against his leg and he could feel it swelling.

“Is that what you like?” Jesus asked again.

“Fuck,” Daryl bit out.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Asshole.”

“You like it.”

He rolled his hips forward again, this time angling himself just slightly so that Daryl could feel it. The hardness in the other man’s pants drug right across Daryl’s, slowly and teasingly. And fuck him, Daryl did like it. His hands went to Jesus’ hips to hold him in that position as the younger man rocked against him. He felt Jesus shudder in his grip and heard the man let out a soft gasp. The next thrust was a little harder. Daryl couldn’t fight back his groan this time.

With Daryl’s fingers digging into his hips, Jesus kept up a steady rhythm of grinding their clothed erections against each other. The stimulation and pressure felt good, much better than what Daryl had had in a long time. It wasn’t just the way the other man was grinding against him either. It was the feel of his body heat under his fingertips. The scratch of his beard against his skin as he kissed his jaw and neck. The sounds of gasps and moans and slight whimpers in his ears as Jesus began to pick up his speed. The slow, gentle way that the younger man was beginning to slip his sweater off of his shoulders and down his arms. 

“As fucking hot as you look in this,” he said between kisses, “it seriously should be a crime to cover arms like yours.”

Daryl lent back and allowed Jesus to slip the garment off of him. The younger man let out an appreciative groan as his fingers instantly began trailing up and down his biceps. Almost made Daryl want to laugh, but then Jesus picked up his pace, thighs squeezing him, and all other thoughts went out the window. He squeezed his hips hard and pulled Jesus closer, getting more of that delicious friction. Jesus was panting in his ear, whispering words that Daryl couldn’t quite make out. His chest was flush against him, and Daryl felt hard to the point of near pain.

Fuck he wanted to touch Jesus. Wanted to feel more of him than just his hipbones. Not knowing exactly what to do, he readjusted his hands so that his fingertips went underneath his shirt. Jesus hissed in his ear when he touched the skin of his stomach. Daryl liked the sound, so he kept touching him. Ran his fingers over the taut muscles of his stomach, could feel the dampness of sweat building there. Jesus whispered out a quiet “shit” when Daryl’s finger brushed past his navel. He caught him off guard again when he pulled back to capture Daryl’s lips in a wet, messy kiss. 

Suddenly his hands were off Daryl’s arms and he was pulling off his shirt. It was thrown across the room before Daryl had a chance to blink, and suddenly Daryl had a half-naked man in his lap. Jesus sat back for a moment, allowing Daryl to look. His eyes raked up and down the younger man’s body. The sight was…well, something else for him. Jesus was so skinny, so small in comparison to himself. His frame more narrow and muscles more lean. Small, dusty pink nipples were pointed, just at Daryl’s eye level and the older man had to fight the urge to roll his thumb over it. Jesus looked…fuck he didn’t want to say beautiful, because that wasn’t it. But he couldn’t deny that Jesus looked pretty damn good. Too good to be wasting time here on his ass.

Jesus’ hands went to the hem of Daryl’s shirt and tugged. When Daryl realized what he was trying to do, he suddenly became very self-conscious. His own chest didn’t look like Jesus’. His was close to being a barrel chest, too broad with greying chest hair. He didn’t want those eyes looking at that, judging and examining him. And his back…he wasn’t going to get into that now. 

“No?” Jesus asked. Daryl opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn’t find the right words. So he shook his head. “Ok.”

Jesus kissed him again and took Daryl’s hands to put them on his chest. With new area to explore and touch, Daryl took his time running his fingers over every inch he could reach. He tried to copy what Jesus had done to him, kissing and biting at his neck and collarbone. He felt bad about his stubble leaving little red welts in his wake, but God the way that the younger man was moaning and grinding on him didn’t make him want to stop. A hand snaked around Jesus’ back, feeling the smooth skin there as Daryl kissed his way down.

He didn’t know exactly what it was—blame it on the heat of the moment—but a surge of boldness overcame him. Daryl kissed his way down until his lips touched that small pink nipple. He closed his lips around hit and teased is tongue over it while he used his thumb to brush over the other one. Jesus actually whined and his hips stuttered in their movements. 

“Fuck…Daryl!”

Slim fingers twined in Daryl’s hair, holding him in place. Daryl’s dick throbbed in his pants and fuck he would need to come soon. As he lavished his attention on the nipple in his mouth he pulled Jesus close and moved a free hand down to Jesus’ ass. It was hard to get a good grip through the other man’s pants, but he tried his best to get a firm hold. Distantly he could hear Jesus saying curses that would make a sailor blush as he rocked into him. Daryl used his hold on him to keep him steady as he thrust his own hips up to meet him. 

The grinding quickly turned into a hard dry humping as each man thrust into each other, the both of them losing themselves to the sensation. Fuck it had been so long for Daryl. Too long. He’d never really been a sexual creature, but the sounds that Jesus was making, just the feel of him now was almost too much for Daryl to handle, and fuck he wanted even more. He wanted more than just friction and heat and skin and the electric jolts running up his spine. He wanted everything. 

“Shit,” Daryl whimpered. He pulled his lips off of Jesus’ nipple to rest his forehead against the younger man’s chest. An old familiar feeling was beginning to rise. A coiling, tight feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was going to come soon, he could feel it. His dick was rock hard against his leg and with the way Jesus was rubbing his own erection against him, he wasn’t going to last more than a minute more.

“Fuck! G-gonna,” Daryl tried to say. Tried to give the other man some kind of warning, just in case. 

“Come on, baby,” Jesus said encouragingly. “It’s ok. Come on.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind—the part that could still think rationally—Daryl wanted to huff at the pet name, but then he felt a twitch in his groin. Holding back a cry, Daryl moved to bite down on Jesus’ shoulder and held the other man tightly. With Jesus’ thighs locked tight on both sides of Daryl’s legs, Daryl thrust up hard into the younger man. Once, twice, three times, and then it happened. All of the pressure built up inside of him suddenly released and Daryl was coming harder than he had in a long while, his body shaking from the force of it. 

Daryl felt like he had sparks running through each nerve and his mind was blank of any coherent thought. The only thing his body could focus on were the waves of pleasure that ran through him, down his spine and shaking his body to the core. Fuck…that had felt good. So, so fucking good. Daryl hadn’t realized how much he had missed this kind of contact. No, not contact exactly…something else. Something that he couldn’t quite explain. 

It took longer than it should have for him to realize that Jesus’ hips were still moving against him, though at a slower pace now. He hadn’t come yet. Sluggishly, Daryl pulled back to look as Jesus moved against him. Jesus’ fingers went under his chin before he could, though, and Daryl was caught in another kiss. It was heated and deep, and though Daryl tried his best to match the other man’s enthusiasm, his mind was still trying to come down. 

He heard the sound of clothes being rearranged, a zipper coming down, and then a soft slapping sound. He could assume that Jesus had chosen a faster way to get himself off. He hadn’t asked or made any indication that he wanted Daryl’s help in finishing, and Daryl didn’t know how to feel about that. Jesus just kept him distracted with his kiss and swallowed down his groan when he finally felt Jesus come. Like himself, the younger man’s body shook, though his was lighter. Like the twitching skin of a horse. 

When Jesus was finally done, he slumped a little against Daryl’s chest. He fell a little back into the sofa, trying to find a comfortable position as he held onto Jesus and allowed the both of them to catch their breath. Daryl’s heart was still pounding hard in his chest and he could feel Jesus’ heartbeat against him, almost as fast as a jackrabbit. 

Well…this wasn’t how Daryl expected the night to go. He wasn’t exactly sure what the hell he had been expecting, but throwing caution to the wind and coming in his own pants like a teenager had not been on the list, that’s for damn sure. Shit…he must have looked like a damn idiot. Jesus didn’t even have to actually touch him for him to come undone like that. Embarrassed, Daryl ducked his head and closed his eyes. He wanted to chew on his thumbnail just to have something to distract himself, but Jesus was still resting against him and he didn’t want to disturb him. 

As the minutes dragged on, though, Jesus made no sign of movement. For a moment, Daryl wondered if the man was even still alive, but he could feel his chest moving as he breathed contentedly. He couldn’t understand why he was still laying against him, though. In all of his other experiences, Daryl’s partners were usually quick to get cleaned up or dressed. He wasn’t used to this, whatever the hell it was that Jesus was doing. The sweat was beginning to dry on his skin and he could feel the sticky come against his thigh, soaking into his pants, making him feel dirty and uncomfortable.

“You alive?” Daryl finally asked. 

“Barely,” Jesus answered with a laugh. 

Another minute passed by with neither of them saying a word. Finally, Jesus stirred in his lap. He pulled back enough so that he was sitting up straight, bright eyes looking down at Daryl and that damn smirk on his lips. Fucking little shit. Daryl looked away from him, eyes turning back to the TV. The title screen had disappeared now, leaving only a black screen with the DVD player’s logo bouncing around. Lips pressed against his cheek softly before he felt the weight lifting off of his lap. 

“I uh…need to get cleaned up,” Jesus said with a nervous laugh. “Where’s your bathroom?”

“’S first door on the right.”

“Thanks.” 

He ducked in for another quick kiss and then turned his on his heel towards the bathroom. Daryl waited until he heard the sound of the door close before getting up and heading towards his room. Each step he took made him cringe as he felt the come against his thigh sticking to his pants. Fucking gross. He needed to get changed, get clean. As soon as he was in his room, he pulled his pants and boxers down and kicked them off somewhere to the side. He was going to have to get rid of them later. Picking up a random pair of boxers and pants from his pile, Daryl went into his personal bathroom and set about cleaning himself up. 

He was thankful that there was only a small smear of jizz left on his skin. A little less embarrassing to clean off. Taking a piece of toilet paper, he wetted it and began to rub his leg raw, like he was trying to wipe out a stain. After he felt clean enough he tossed the paper in the bin and went to wash his hands. Unfortunately, while at the mirror, he caught a glimpse of himself. 

His hair was a wild mess—nothing new there—from the fingers being run through it all night, and his face was still tinged pink. Though, whether that was from the heat or just from his own embarrassment, he didn’t know. What caught him off guard and made his blood boil, though was what he saw on his neck. An oblong shaped, very large, very obvious bruise…A hickey. He had a fucking hickey.

Daryl leaned in closer to the mirror to get a better look at it, and fuck it was ugly. The damn thing looked like it was over an inch long, with the tiny blood vessels there turning a hideous purple color just next to his Adam’s apple. Shit…he was going to catch so much hell at work over this. Almost forty fucking years old and he looked like he got attacked by the hose of a vacuum cleaner. Groaning, Daryl closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the mirror and wished to disappear. Only the sound of the flush of the toilet down the hall reminded him that his guest was still in the house. 

He wondered for a moment if he could just hide in there until the other went away, but from what he knew of Jesus, the younger man was likely to just track him down in there. Daryl tried not to let that thought make him smile, because at the moment, it would just be annoying. He supposed that he should go see the other man off at least. He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to look him in the eye after seeing the mark he left behind, though.

_"Well hot damn, little brother. That tiny queer knows how to use that mouth of his. Shoulda taken some more of that while you had the chance, instead of just humpin’ on him like a dog. If you’re gonna be a fairy might as well stop bein’ a pussy about it."_

“Shut up,” Daryl said. 

He tapped his forehead against the mirror once, steeled himself for the embarrassment, and finally turned to go back to the living room. Jesus had just gotten back before him when he walked in. He didn’t see Daryl just yet and was walking to where he’d left his bag on the table in the kitchen. Daryl guessed that he was getting his things together to leave. He felt a small twinge of relief before it was overcome by something else, something that he didn’t quite recognize. 

“Hey,” Daryl said softly to get his attention.

Jesus turned, flashing that brilliant smile of his and Daryl had to look away. “Hey yourself—shit.”

Daryl started chewing on his thumbnail as Jesus walked up to him. When a hand reached out to touch him, he flinched. Jesus paused for a second, but then a finger was touching him. More specifically, it was touching that ugly fucking hickey.

“Sorry about that,” Jesus said. Though by the tone of his voice, he didn’t sound sorry in the least. “I guess I got a little carried away. You, uh…you kind of do that to me.”

Taking a chance peak, Daryl saw that Jesus was looking away now. His cheeks were flushed and his hand was rubbing the back of his neck. This was new for Daryl. He’d seen Jesus look nervous earlier, but for once the little prick actually seemed a bit embarrassed. Good to see that the asshole had a sense of shame after all. It also made Daryl feel just a little bit better about it, knowing that the fucker wasn’t going to tease him like he did everything else.

“’S alright,” he mumbled. 

“If you put some ice on it, it’ll go down quicker.”

“Hmm,” he nodded. “I’ll do that…You headin’ out?”

“What?” Jesus looked from him to his bag and back. “Oh. I actually was just going to change, since I kind of…ruined my last pair of pants. I brought a pair of sweats.”

Jesus went back to his bag, rummaged around for a minute in it and pulled out a pair of soft looking grey pants. Instead of going back into the bathroom to change, though, he started pulling down his other pair there in the kitchen, and Daryl quickly turned to give him privacy. So much for him having some shame.

Wait a minute…

“What’d you bring those for?” Daryl asked. When he turned his head back, Jesus was grinning like a fool and slipping into his clean pair.

“A gorgeous man asks me to his place late at night. I thought I might need them.”

“Prick,” Daryl muttered. “You were plannin’ this then?” 

Another thought occurred to him, one that made him clench his fists. “You make up that Bigfoot shit to get in my pants?”

Jesus’ head shot up at the accusation, his eyes going a little wide. “I can see why you’d think that—I’ll give you that—but I promise you I have never lied about seeing Sasquatch. You’re the first person to ever believe me about that.”

Shit…now Daryl felt bad for doubting him. Still, he wouldn’t put it past the little shit to do something like that. His history has shown what he’ll do to get under Daryl’s skin. He stood still when Jesus walked up to him and put his arms around his neck. He waited until Daryl could fully look him in the eyes before he spoke. 

“I’ve had a lot of fun tonight,” he said. “And I’m not talking about what we just did. That was nice—really nice, actually—but that wasn’t the reason I came over here, and it wasn’t something that I was expecting. I’m glad it turned out that way, but it’s not why I’m here. I’m here for you. Just you, ok?”

“…Kay,” Daryl nodded. Jesus gave him a little smile and kissed him softly again. “You…you gotta head out soon?”

“It’s getting late,” Jesus sighed. “I suppose I should…Do you want me to go?”

There he went again. Giving Daryl the choice in something that he had no idea what to do with. Did he want him to go? He wanted his comfortable space, where he could just breathe and not have to think. But at the same time, he wanted this warm body that was in his arms. He just didn’t know how to make the two wants intersect. 

“It’s ok,” Jesus said after a long silence. “It’s ok, really. I can go.”

When he pulled out of Daryl’s arms something struck him deep in his chest. A sharp pang, like he’d been stuck by a needle. Before Jesus could get back to his bag, Daryl grabbed his wrist loosely.

“You been drinkin’.”

“Yeah,” Jesus laughed. “Not much, though. I have a pretty high tolerance and the drive isn’t that far…but I can call someone to come get me if you’re worried.”

“Don’t,” Daryl said with a shake of his head. “You shouldn’t…that’s how my brot—…Just…stay. You can have the bed and I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Jesus’ hand moved so that he could twine his fingers with Daryl’s. “I’ll stay. I’m not going to kick you out of your own bed, though. The couch isn’t bad, I can crash there.”

“Ain’t right to make you. That thing is a piece of shit.”

“You say that, but I have to disagree. It’s nice…How about we put on another movie and figure it out after?”

“…Alright.”

Hand in hand, Jesus led him back to the sofa. When Daryl sat down, Jesus broke from him to fiddle around with the DVD player again. Daryl kept his eyes on him, noticed the way he smiled to himself as he put in the new movie, like he was the happiest asshole on the planet. Daryl didn’t quite understand it, but it was nice to look at. _Night of the Living Dead_ began to play on the screen as Jesus sat himself back down behind Daryl. The older man let out a loud _hmph_ sound when he was suddenly pulled back against Jesus’ chest between his legs. 

“We doin’ this shit again?”

“Don’t act like you don’t enjoy it.”

“You like it a little too much, ‘s what I think.”

“Do I enjoy having a gorgeous man in my arms while I watch a good terrible movie? No way,” he said, sarcasm dripping in his tone. “Now shush, little spoon.”

“I’m gonna beat your ass one of these days.”

“So adorable,” he sighed. 

Daryl laughed. He had to be out of his mind to want to keep this asshole around, but fuck if that wasn’t the case. Because just sitting there, being held by the other, Daryl felt more content than he’d ever had in his life. No more feeling like a piece of shit, if only just for a moment. Jesus liked him for the polished turd that he was, and maybe that was enough. 

So he settled back into Jesus’ embrace and let himself be held. This was good, like what Aaron and Eric had. This was nice. 

“Just don’t talk my ear off durin’ this one.”

“I make no promises.”

“Prick.”

“You like it.”

“Yeah…yeah I do.”


End file.
